i'm going to **** myself soon
because of how badly breaking hurts
and how lonely 'broken' feels
but sixty percent because lately

my sadness
is forming echoes in my bones
such that my broken pieces hit other hearts
before reflecting back to cut against me
scratched people are not art
and I don't want to hurt anybody

thank you for listening to my stories
and for never spelling out
that I was not in fact 'okay' even if you knew
i'd been crossing out the days really quickly

it was just what I needed
to have my delusions persuaded
my fears remain seated

because how can people not have breaking
points when water has a boiling point
and we are three-fourths that
I am three-fourths not
good enough

the decision had
long ago been made for me
i had stopped being happy
and it's been some time since I've prayed
because what can you do to fight fate
when they confiscated your weapons
they never returned them

I want to be whole, alone, a poem -
anything but broken,
but I am broken.
I am dying,
I am dead